


The Starbucks Boy

by noelre



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Starbucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noelre/pseuds/noelre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins with wrong orders, <em>Iced Caramel Macchiato</em> for Takao and <em>Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino</em> for Midorima. It ends with a love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Starbucks Boy

**Author's Note:**

> What do I do when I want to relax and take a break between writing my daily fics? Write more fics! I wanted to try something different, something that isn't my style at all, and I don't think it turned out too bad. I had fun writing this, and that's the best feeling. I'm too in love with these boys.

Kazunari runs in the midst of crowds, over the crossing, evades cars that want to run him over because he doesn’t pay attention to red and green. His cheeks glow bright red, and the first droplets of sweat gleam on his forehead. He carries a clean mug in one hand and phone in the other, and is determined to make it in time to Shibuya. Five more minutes. If he runs fast enough, he can do it. After all, today before noon his personal favorite, tall Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino, costs only two hundred yens. Bring your own Starbucks mug.

 

He wants that _damn_ Frappuccino.

 

Two minutes before noon, he is finally at Shibuya, but so are millions of others. He grunts from frustration and runs over another crossing, and like an angel in disguise Starbucks shines above his head. He pushes people out of his way and protects the yuletide porcelain mug by pressing it firmly against his chest. Climbs up the stairs with dozens of others, enters the crowded coffee shop, and runs to the till. Sweat pours from his pores and makes his armpits damp, but he thanks his luck for choosing a dark-colored hoodie. Finally his turn, and Kazunari sets the mug harder on the desk than he wanted to. The barista looks at him with arched eyebrows. He takes a moment to catch his breath. This is what happens when you aren’t an athlete.

 

“One tall Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino, _please_ ,” he pleas.

 

The barista presses the screen of the register and offers her customer service smile. “That’s seven hundred and fifty.”

 

“What? No, no, no, _no_. It’s not noon yet!”

 

The barista’s well-groomed brows shot up higher. She glances at the clock behind her back. Minute over.

 

Kazunari groans at his loss, takes a step back and works his fingers through his dark hair. This wasn’t supposed to happen – today was supposed to be his day! He cries over the misfortune and attracts attention from the thirsty customers behind him. People glare at him. He doesn’t care.

 

“So… You want that Frappuccino or not?”

 

He subdues to his destiny. “Sure.” All the running has made him thirsty. “But give it on the go.” Possessively he grabs his special edition mug back to himself and shoves it deep down to the dirty bottom of his bag. He won’t give this woman the satisfaction of pouring the drink to his favorite mug with a normal price. He gives his name and moves to the end of the counter.

 

Drumming his fingertips against the counter, he spares a moment to glance around. Everything seems as usual, people chatting, some reading, some buried in front of their laptops. He chews his lip and sucks it in, and oversees the second barista as he makes the beverages. A moment sitting down would have been nice, but now he won’t spend a second too long here; he’ll take his Frappuccino and get back home, wiggle himself back under blankets and continue the game he had to _pause_ for this. He sucks his lip a little harder until he is sure bruising appears. Behind the till the barista is in no rush. Kazunari purses his lips to a pout and looks elsewhere, through the window and at the busy crossing.

 

“Iced Caramel Macchiato for Takao, and Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino for Midorima!” the barista lazily announces.

 

Kazunari stares at the venti-sized beverage with his name scribbled on the side of it. Caramel… Macchiato. _Iced._ He tries to gain the barista’s attention by waving his hand. “Sorry, this isn’t what—“

 

“This isn’t what I ordered,” someone else finishes for him.

 

He looks beside him, and then has to look up to the tallest guy he has ever seen. Not just the tallest but also the _hottest_ guy he has ever laid his eyes on. Easily a head taller than him, the giant is lanky with a delicious undercut in his green hair, and it’s an undercut which roughness he wants to touch with the tips of his fingers; the rest are gathered to a small bun on the top of his head. Round glasses on his nose, and an excellent taste in clothing. Kazunari stands a little straighter and brushes his hair behind his ear. He settles a dazzling, inviting, _flirting_ smile on his lips. It must be his lucky day, after all, because the guy is divine, and he wants piece of that. He nudges his arm.

 

“Sorry, did you order this?” He gains the stranger’s attention and quickly checks him out in the reflection of the glasses. “Because… I kinda see that what you’re holding is what I ordered, but you know…”

 

“Idiots,” the guy mumbles under his breath. His brows cock higher above the glasses. “So this is your _Frappuccino_?” He spits it out like an insult.

 

Kazunari takes it a little personal. “Yeah, so this must be your _Iced_ Caramel Macchiato.”

 

“That’s right.”

 

They make a wordless exchange. Kazunari stares at the smaller plastic cup in his hand and stares at the name. How do you say it again, Midorima? Seeing a gap for flirtation, he opens his mouth, but the guy is already gone. Kazunari’s lips pucker to another pout, and he glances around. He spots the guy on the prime table – _his_ favorite table – and what he expected to be a laptop turns out to be piles of books. Taking sips every now and then from his cold Frappuccino, the stranger looks pretty. Beautiful. Kazunari wants that, flirt a little, just to feel better about himself. He pushes back his overgrown bangs and readies for the kill.

 

He plops down on the only available seat across the small table. The guy looks at him and lets out a throaty noise.

 

“The seat’s taken.”

 

“Let me stay just a moment here, okay? It’s the only place left, I’ll move once your girlfriend comes.”

 

The guy doesn’t take the bait but looks down at the open book and adjusts his glasses. He hunches over and looks rather awkward in doing so. Kazunari tilts his head and purses his lips, narrows his eyes in judgment, and the result is good. This guy is a hot one, in the weird kind of way. He looks good from head to feet and makes Kazunari’s insides sing a song of praise. Kazunari takes a loud slurp from his overly priced drink and attracts the other’s attention again.

 

“Can you go somewhere else?” The guy pulls his notebook closer to himself and away from Kazunari. “I’m trying to study.”

 

Kazunari chuckles. “Isn’t this a bit too noisy place for that?”

 

“It is _now_.”

 

Such a cute insult. Kazunari can’t contain his lopsided smile. The guy has the longest, most elegant fingers he has ever seen. He has the strangest urge to pop those fingers in his mouth and trail his tongue between them. Not the first time he fantasizes doing something odd with a stranger. His chest flutters pleasantly, and his skin prickles and tingles. He takes another loud sip from the ice-cold drink, and moves the cup around enough to read the name again.

 

“So, Midorima,” he begins. Another slurp. “How can you drink those Macchiatos? They taste so bad!”

 

He only gains a glare.

 

“My name’s Takao. Looks like your date won’t come, so I can be a replacement.”

 

No answer. Kazunari rolls his eyes and averts his gaze, slurps loudly again. The ice in his cup gets friendly with each other. Not ready to give up yet, he offers his cup towards Midorima. “Want to—“

 

“Can you seriously go?” The cuteness turns into anguish. “Seriously, I don’t want your company.”

 

“Jeez, excuse me for trying to be friendly.”

 

“Be friendly with someone else.”

 

They share a look, and Kazunari admits his defeat. He shrugs his shoulders, tightens his grasp from his favorite drink and gets up. Such a shame. The guy looks really good but broods too much.

 

*

 

He stands in line of the same Starbucks again, exactly twenty-four hours later. For the occasion he has chosen better clothes. On his usual spot he sees the Starbucks Boy that he dreamed of late in bed, and orders two Frappuccinos. Less crowded, he wades his way to him.

 

“Hey, you.”

 

Midorima looks up. His mouth drops agape, only for a moment, and then he presses his lips flat. “You have to be _fucking_ kidding me.”

 

“Hey, I brought you a drink, you don’t have the right to complain.” So Kazunari says but remains on his feet. “But you know, I can leave it here and find myself another spot.”

 

A sigh. “Sit down, then.”

 

Kazunari’s face lights up. He does as told and plops down in front of the boy of his dreams and offers him his cup. Glancing down at the spread out books and notebooks, he doesn’t try to hide his curiosity. “What are you reading?”

 

“Entrance exams books.” Midorima takes a careful sip through the green straw and cringes immediately. He moves the cup on the windowsill beside his arm. “ _Was_ reading. I can’t imagine doing that now that you’re there.”

 

“Sorry, sorry!” Kazunari isn’t sorry at all. He grins. “We didn’t really get introduced properly yesterday, did we?”

 

“We did. You must be Mr. Frappuccino.”

 

“Good one, Mr. Macchiato.” He offers his hand to him over the table. “I’m Takao.”

 

“Midorima.”

 

“Midorima,” Kazunari repeats to be absolutely sure of the pronunciation. His fingers meet Midorima’s sweaty ones that he squeezes, and then pulls his hand to himself. “Do you come here often to study?”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“So if I come here tomorrow again, I’ll meet you?”

 

A light blush spreads across Midorima’s cheeks. “Don’t you dare,” he mutters. He doesn’t sound _too_ opposed the idea.

 

Kazunari chuckles gently. “We’ll see how I feel tomorrow morning.” Behind his cup he looks at the good-looking hunk. He can’t believe that such a guy would be available. Hopefully he is at least gay.  He tilts his head. “What entrance exam are you taking?”

 

“To medical school.”

 

“Impressive.” And it is, so very impressive that a grin spreads to his lips. “So you want to be a doctor?”

 

“Possibly.”

 

Kazunari leans over the table. “Maybe I’ll become your nurse and we can do some one-on-one examination in an empty room.”

 

Midorima nearly chokes on his share of Frappuccino. His face turns redder by the second, and only a minute of violent coughing brings him back to normal color. Almost, that is. “Do you blatantly flirt with everyone you buy drinks?”

 

“Oh, no, you’re a special case, babe.”

 

A roll of an eye, and Midorima averts his gaze. He shakes his head. “What’s wrong with you?”

 

Kazunari’s lips dry. He leans back to the chair. “A lot of things.”

 

“Shit,” Midorima cusses under his breath. He rubs his shaven nape. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

 

“I mean, I feel like I’m about to have a really nasty flu soon.”

 

Midorima stares. Grits his teeth and clicks his tongue. “What an eyesore you are.”

 

“You’re a pretty mean guy,” Kazunari retorts.

 

“Honest, not mean.”

 

“It seems there’s a very fine line between those two.”

 

They look into each other’s eyes. Then, Midorima bursts to a clearly involuntary laughter, and Kazunari laughs along. They talk about hopes and dreams.

 

*

 

“Hey, you,” chirps Kazunari as he places two Macchiatos on the table.

 

Midorima glances up. Today, he doesn’t look as annoyed.

 

*

 

One Frappuccino labeled with ‘Midorima’ and one Macchiato with ‘Takao’ ease to the usual table. Kazunari tears his gaze from his borrowed book of human anatomy. Today Midorima has no notes to carry. He wears a smile instead.

 

“Hey, you.”

 

Kazunari replies, “Hey, you.”

 

*

 

It takes ten bought Frappuccinos and Macchiatos for Kazunari to lure Midorima to accept his invitation to hang at his home. Butterflies race in his stomach as he fumbles a key to the lock. His fingertips tremble. He’s not a nervous guy to begin with, but under the pressure of Midorima’s eyes boring to his skull he is ready to vomit out the nausea. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open to his small home. Cringes. The stuffy smell makes him want to drag Midorima right back to the noise of Starbucks.

 

“Sorry, just… Wait just a second there.” He kicks his shoes off and hurries to open every possible window. Not exactly pleased, he is ready to call the meeting off, but Midorima is already without shoes. In his socks are printed multiple representations of human hearts in wicked colors. The corners of Kazunari’s eyes soften to the sight. He looks at Midorima. “Just take a seat, it won’t be as comfortable as the usual ones…”

 

“Perhaps we will survive just this once.”

 

“Maybe,” Kazunari agrees with a snicker. He presses his thighs against the back of the couch and hangs upside down. Midorima looks even more beautiful than usual. He wants to mess up the small green chignon and witness the strands fall over the round glasses and jewel-like eyes. Not ready to get the guy’s fury, he resists the urge. “You know what,” he says and pushes himself up. Midorima’s gaze follows. “I might have the ingredients for some homemade Caramel Macchiato if you’re game.”

 

“I’m… game, I suppose.”

 

“Awesome. Turn on the TV or something so you won’t get too bored while waiting.”

 

Midorima does that, and Kazunari disappears to the kitchen while rolling up his sleeves. He is going to serve perfect Macchiatos for his Starbucks boy.

 

Twenty minutes later he slams down two very sad attempts of the said drinks. The ice doesn’t float, it _sinks_ to the bottom, and Kazunari wonders what the hell went wrong even after blending everything twice, and once more to be on the safe side. He slumps down on the couch beside Midorima and groans, and rubs his forehead with milk-stained fingers. From the corner of his eye he sees Midorima lift up one of the bright green mugs. Kazunari grumbles and falls flat on the couch.

 

“You might get poisoned if you drink it,” he warns.

 

“I think I’ll take my chance.”

 

So Midorima does, and in the midst of the first sip cringes. Kazunari wants to drill himself to the softness of the couch.

 

“How bad is it, be honest,” he appeals.

 

“It’s… It’s good.” Midorima hums and takes another sip. This time he trembles. “It’s… Hm. Interesting.”

 

“Good interesting or bad interesting?” Kazunari pesters.

 

“Alright, I tried to be polite, but you brought this up to yourself. It tastes absolutely hideous.”

 

Kazunari rolls his eyes shut and nudges the top of his head against Midorima’s hip. It’s a perfect place to hide his embarrassment. “Remind me never to become a barista in Starbucks,” he moans and hates himself at the moment.

 

“I’ll do exactly that.”

 

With care he glances up and examines Midorima’s sharp jawline. How can someone look so breathtaking? Did he received too much beauty in the making, is that what this is about? Kazunari pushes himself up and sits over his legs. He looks down at the fingers curled into fists over the jeans-covered knees and wants to touch. Brush a little. Hold. Entangle his to them and yank Midorima closer and give him a quick kiss. Midorima has stopped frowning whenever he looks at him, too. They meet at Starbucks to chat. The meetings aren’t random anymore. There are no books involved, only them and either one’s treat. Kazunari chews his bottom lip.

 

“I need to tell you something,” Midorima suddenly says.

 

Kazunari frowns. “What is it?”

 

Midorima takes a better seat and pulls his legs up, faces Kazunari. “I might… not apply to medical school after all.”

 

“What are you saying? You’ve been studying so hard for the exam!”

 

“I’m just not sure if it’s my thing after all.”

 

Kazunari crosses his arms loosely over his chest. “What were you planning to do, then?”

 

Midorima averts his gaze. “I’m not… I haven’t thought of that.”

 

“Don’t give up in that case.” Kazunari pokes Midorima’s arm, a little bit too hard. Midorima winces. Kazunari huffs. “Go for it, go take the exam and if you don’t get in, that’s that, but if you get accepted, then you just think what you want.”

 

“You never talk like this,” Midorima points out.

 

“I don’t want my friends to throw their future away.”

 

“Friends…?”

 

Kazunari startles. His eyes widen enough to expose a hint too much whites, and then he looks elsewhere already. Chest tightening, he clears his throat. A sheer layer of blush invades his cheeks. “Sorry, did I go too much ahead?” Shame is the primary culprit for choking him. He did get too much ahead. Yet he thought that weeks of being together daily, treating each other, going to movies and on lunches meant something.

 

Midorima grabs him from the chin and kisses him. Just like that. Soft lips on his. Kazunari is thrown back, his eyes flustering open. He stares at Midorima through the glasses and wants to know what exactly is going through that mind at the moment. Midorima doesn’t need to spell it aloud, simply closes his eyes and tilts his head, deepens the kiss. _Not friends_. Now Kazunari understands. He melts against the embrace and pulls Midorima closer. The Starbucks Boy kisses him, and he feels alive. His heart takes the rhythm of Midorima’s, and he forgets all about the recipe of the failure of a Macchiato even when Midorima tastes of burned caramel.

 

*

 

At 3am Kazunari rolls on his side and rests his weight on an elbow. Sleeping and snoring, hair messy, drool trickling between the thin lips, Shintarou is still the most stunning sight. Moon illuminates his skin and the gentle goose bumps. Kazunari runs his fingers over the skin and draws vague shapes. The sheets barely cover the tall naked figure, and Kazunari prefers it. Under the silver light Shintarou is so very beautiful, and he wants to cry. He does.

 

In the midst of gross sobs of unexplainable happiness Shintarou stirs awake. They look at each other, and Kazunari snorts a sort of laughter of embarrassment. He wipes the snot away but gets pulled to a kiss. He isn’t sure why he cries, but he knows that Shintarou understands. Sure of it, he rests his head against the man’s chest and gets lulled by the steady heartbeat under his ear.

 

“Hey, you,” murmurs Shintarou and strokes his hair.

 

“Hey, you,” Kazunari whispers back and glances at him.

 

A little stubble covers the sharp chin. The hair is in curls and falls over the pale skin. He squeezes his eyes shut and clings to Shintarou.

 

“What are you doing, crying in the middle of the night?” A yawn, and Shintarou works his finger over and over through the dark mess.

 

“Nothing. Just thinking about something stupid.”

 

“You’re a bit stupid, granted…”

 

“Hey,” he scolds but does it gently.

 

In the darkness their eyes meet. Before Shintarou can turn towards their shared nightstand and turn the light on, Kazunari kisses him. They share another kiss, and then dozen mores until they exchange their usual ‘I love you’s. He rests his head back to Shintarou’s chest. Shintarou strokes his spine with the side of his thumb. They lie in silence and listen each other’s breaths. It feels right. It’s their little bubble. Crafted together.

 

“I want to introduce you to my parents,” Kazunari murmurs.

 

“Are we at that stage now?” asks Shintarou.

 

Kazunari looks up at him. Nods. “I think we are.”

 

A slight pause. Only afterwards Shintarou says, “If you treat me the next time we have coffee.”

 

“Deal.”

 

“Deal.”

 

They swap smiles and kisses and secret ‘I love you’s. Kazunari knows that this is future. This is his rest of the life. His fairytale ending. Nothing is missing.

 

*

 

Kazunari runs in the midst of crowds and over the Shibuya crossing. His cheeks glow heat and droplets of sweat gleam on his forehead. He’s already late, yet there are still minutes to spare to noon. This time he doesn’t have his favorite yuletide mug. If he remembers correctly, it rests on his boyfriend’s drying cupboard.

 

He runs up the stairs to Starbucks and catches his breath in the line. On his turn the barista looks at him briefly and smiles. “The usual?”

 

“The usual,” he agrees, pays, tells the names and moves at the end. He glances around and spots Shintarou on the window table. Kazunari waves his fingers, and Shintarou does the same. A grin from ear to ear spreads to his lips. He averts his gaze but glances at Shintarou again. The Starbucks Boy is still looking. He mouths ‘stop it’, but neither of them does. He laughs under his breath and shakes his head.

 

“Iced Caramel Macchiato for Takao, and Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino for Midorima!” announces the second barista.

 

Kazunari grabs them and skips to their table. Leans over and gives Shintarou a kiss before offering the Iced Macchiato.

 

Laughter curls on his lips. “Hey, you,” he murmurs and kisses him again. Pulls back. Shintarou shines red on the cheeks. Kazunari pokes the green chignon on the top of the head and sits down on the chair across the table. After one slurp he gets up.

 

“Where are you going?” Shintarou asks.

 

“Wait just a sec.”

 

Kazunari takes his bag along and goes back to the line. The barista behind the till arches her carefully shaped eyebrows. “Was something missing?”

 

“I want to buy that moose mug behind your back,” Kazunari announces. The barista’s features soften. “And can you wrap it around something that’ll keep it intact? I don’t need a bag.”

 

She does exactly that and charges. Kazunari glances at Shintarou over his shoulder and sees him looking out of the window. He thanks her and hides the mug in his bag, and skips back to their table. He decides to save it for their anniversary.

 

The Starbucks Boy receives the mug exactly five minutes later.


End file.
